


Personal Security

by fourteencandles (thingsbaker)



Series: Here's Us Together [5]
Category: Entourage
Genre: M/M, PWP, but still a little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 20:12:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3742144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingsbaker/pseuds/fourteencandles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hard day, superstar?” </p><p>Vince nips the juncture between Eric’s neck and shoulder. “I want to fuck,” he says.</p><p>Eric laughs and pushes away the chicken. “Right now?”</p><p>“I can wait for you to brush your teeth,” Vince says, drawing back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Personal Security

**Author's Note:**

> Written sometime in 2008 and originally posted on Livejournal, this exists somewhere within this series/universe and has no spoilers for anything. Thanks to shoshannagold for the quick'n'dirty (oh! a pun!) beta for this PWP.

Eric is sitting at the counter in the kitchen, eating some leftover chicken he found in the refrigerator, when he hears the front door open. Vince has been out all day, running errands with the boys – hair dresser, tailor, blah blah blah. Eric doesn’t really enjoy going along for all of that, because he still doesn’t quite buy into the whole scene. Vince’s last haircut cost around $200, and then the girl on set still messed with it every day, and four weeks later they did it all again. For two hundred dollars, Eric figures hair should do itself. Beyond that, he’s not so keen on tagging along just to watch the stylists and tailors and salespeople – male and female – flirt with Vince, or to watch him flirt back. Eric knows logically that it means nothing – he believes that Vince is faithful, and he knows that Vince flirts like he breathes – but emotionally, well, it’s better for both of them if Eric stays home.  
  
Vince walks in smelling like the high-dollar styling stuff they always use, a weird chemical and fruit smell, and he drops a couple of shopping bags onto the floor before he slides his arms around Eric’s waist from behind.  
  
“Do I want to know what’s in those?” Eric asks as Vince nuzzles his neck.  
  
“No,” Vince says. He groans and ducks his head so his forehead is pressing against Eric’s shoulder.   
  
“Hard day, superstar?”   
  
Vince nips the juncture between Eric’s neck and shoulder. “I want to fuck,” he says.  
  
Eric laughs and pushes away the chicken. “Right now?”  
  
“I can wait for you to brush your teeth,” Vince says, drawing back. “Garlic chicken?”  
  
“I don’t know, whatever was leftover.” Eric puts the lid on the chicken and turns, looks at Vince. His hair looks good, actually, hanging in curls at different layers around his face, the well-organized messy look that he does so well. His eyebrows are sculpted, his teeth are bright white, and he’s clean-shaven – a rarity at 6 p.m. His eyes, under his perfect dark lashes, are hungry. “OK,” Eric says, nodding, and Vince nods back and then walks out of the kitchen.  
  
Eric puts the chicken back in the fridge before he follows. He stops in the guest bathroom to swirl a little mouthwash around, then walks into the bedroom, where Vince is standing naked by the closet, hanging up the shirt he was wearing.  
  
“Jesus, you’re in a hurry,” Eric says, closing the door. “I didn’t know I was signing up for a quickie.”  
  
Vince turns and says, “Not quick. In fact, if I can walk tomorrow, you haven’t done your job.”  
  
“My job?” Vince unbuttons Eric’s shirt, and Eric looks up at him. “Hey, is something going on?”  
  
“I just need this,” Vince says, unzipping Eric’s pants. “OK?”  
  
And Eric wants to stop him, because that sends a weird chill down his spine, but Vince looks at him and then kisses him, slow and deep and needy, and Eric puts his hands on Vince’s bare waist.  
  
“OK,” he says, and lets Vince lead him to the bed. What surprises him next is that Vince sits, but doesn’t pull Eric down with him; instead, he steadies Eric by his hips with one hand and strokes him with the other.  
  
“Uh –“ Eric starts, and then he puts his hands on Vince’s evenly-tanned shoulders and sighs through his teeth when Vince takes him in his mouth. “I thought you wanted –“  
  
Vince does something with his tongue that makes Eric jolt. This is Vince’s show, he decides, he can do whatever he wants, as long as he keeps doing that. He slips one hand into Vince’s hair, carefully, surprised by how stiff it feels. Vince makes a little noise that Eric recognizes, a positive noise, and Eric slides his other hand into his hair, too, strokes it as Vince continues to work his cock. He seems to be pulling about every trick he knows, because it takes only a few minutes for Eric to go from mildly interested to so fucking hard and hot that he’s sweating and can hear himself gasping. A couple more minutes of that and his entire body is tight with want. “Vince,” he says, tugging on Vince’s hair a little to warn him of how close he is, and Vince makes the agreeable noise again and keeps going until Eric’s knees lock and his eyes jam shut and he comes in Vince’s mouth, pulling his newly-styled hair.  
  
Then, as he sways, Vince pulls him down on the bed, and Eric goes happily, rolling onto his stomach. Vince kisses him across the back of his shoulders, and Eric crosses his arms under his head. There are long strands of black hair between two of his fingers. “Sorry about your hair,” Eric murmurs. Vince hums, his mouth between Eric’s shoulder blades. His hard-on is rubbing against Eric’s thigh. “Am I about to get fucked?” Eric asks, making his tone encouraging. Again, not what he thought was going to happen, but he’s good with it.  
  
“Tempting,” Vince says, still laying the same kisses over his back, “but no.” He rolls Eric over and settles between his legs. They kiss and Vince rubs against him, slowly, not urgently. Eric slides a hand down to help him out, but Vince shakes his head. “Nuh-uh,” he says, catching Eric’s wrist. “Not until you’re in me.”  
  
Something about that sounds so pleasantly dirty that Eric’s cock twitches. “That could be a little bit,” he says, and his voice is all throat.  
  
“Kind of what I’m counting on,” Vince says. “Second round is slower, right? I want it to last.”  
  
Vince holds out the last vowel, and there’s something in his voice that makes Eric feel wary, again, like Vince wants something more than usual, for reasons other than just wanting sex. “You gonna tell me what’s going on?” Eric asks.  
  
Vince stretches across the bed and Eric hears the drawer open and close, then a tube of lube falls onto his chest. “Get me ready,” he says, and rolls onto his stomach beside Eric.   
  
The thing is, Vince doesn’t usually take a lot of prep, but Eric still needs some time to recover, so he goes with it. He kisses his way down Vince’s back – gloriously, unbrokenly tan – and then across to his thigh, where he sucks an impression into the skin just at the juncture of leg and cheek. Vince groans and Eric runs his hands up and down his legs, pulling them apart gently, slowly, pausing to rub his thumbs over the bend of Vince’s knee, his fingers across the bone of his ankle, because he knows Vince likes to be touched like this, everywhere, anywhere. He settles on his knees between Vince’s legs and puts his hands on his waist, rubbing his thumbs across the dip at the end of his spine, then letting them slide lower, until his cheeks are parted. Vince thrusts once into the mattress and Eric says, “Shh,” and just holds him open like that, seeing the sweat glistening on Vince’s shoulders. Now it’s his show. He takes one hand away to slick up his fingers, then pushes just the tip of his index finger inside of Vince.   
  
“You come, too,” Eric says, still with only the tip of his finger inside. He moves it just a little, in-out-in-around-out-in, never further than the second knuckle. “You’re so fucking close, I can tell by how tight you are,” he says. With his finger still there, flesh spread apart by his thumb and ring finger so that Vince is totally open to him, Eric leans forward until his mouth is against the back of Vince’s neck, the smell of the salon spray thick in his nose. “I’m still gonna fuck you,” he whispers, sweat under his tongue, and Vince groans and pushes back against him. His finger slips all the way in and Vince comes.  
  
Eric slides onto his side on the bed, pulling back and away. Vince makes a small noise, disappointment or disapproval, when Eric takes his hand away, but Eric’s busy. He urges Vince onto his side, as well, so he’s facing him, and he lifts Vince’s leg up so it’s over Eric’s and he again has easy access to his ass. Vince’s softening, sticky cock brushes Eric’s, and Eric is officially hard again.  
  
He slicks another finger, slides them both into Vince and waits for his eyes to open before he moves. When he looks over, he grabs Eric’s face, pulls him close and kisses him, a heavy, tongue-filled kiss, and Eric twists his fingers so that Vince moans. He really wants something, Eric thinks, and presses on Vince’s prostate until he can feel him getting hard again. Vince's kisses become more frantic once Eric adds a third finger.  
  
“How do you want,” Eric asks, breathless, holding Vince back with a hand on his collarbone.  
  
Vince nods, catching his breath, too, it seems, and pulls his leg away from Eric, lets Eric slip out and away as he turns onto his stomach, then gets up on his elbows. Eric slicks his cock, then wipes his hand on the sheets and puts both on Vince’s waist. He leans down to kiss his shoulder, and Vince turns his head.   
  
“Hard,” he whispers.   
  
Eric says, “Vin –“  
  
“Please, E,” he says, his head dropping.  
  
So Eric nods, swallows once, and then pushes inside. Vince is tense, and Eric hears him gasp a little, what’s usually a negative,  _stop, ow_  noise, so he slows, as much as he can. “No, come on,” Vince says, rocking himself back onto Eric’s dick, and Eric freezes.  
  
“No,” he says, his hands firm on Vince’s waist. He thinks about pulling out completely. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says. “If that’s what you want –“  
  
“It’s not. I just want you to fuck me,” Vince says. His voice is soft. He reaches back and puts his hand over one of Eric’s, draws it up close to his chest. “Eric, come on,” he says.  
  
It’s not that he doesn’t want to; Christ, he wants to. But he has to be sure. “Not like this,” he says, and draws back. Vince groans and reaches for him, and Eric keeps his hands steady, rolls Vince onto his back. “Look at me,” he says, and Vince opens his eyes. He looks – well, still hungry, and a little annoyed, now, but also worried. Eric kisses him. “I want to see your face,” he says, and Vince strokes his hair.  
  
“OK,” he says softly. Vince is hard, still, maybe even harder. That’s reassuring, somehow, as is the way Vince bends his knee, rubs Eric’s thigh and then his back with one heel. He really wants it. Eric helps him hold his legs back, and he pushes in, and this time he gets going immediately. God, it feels good – always feels good – and Vince rubs his chest, thumbs his nipples, tilts his head back and groans.  
  
“Faster,” he says, and Eric agrees, and as he watches Vince’s face tighten, sees his mouth twist and reaches back to feel his toes curl, he really lets himself go. Harder, harder, harder, he thinks, and maybe he says it out loud because Vince finally comes with a gasping, “Yes, yes.”  
  
Eric’s hair is matted with sweat; he can barely see. He thrusts a few more times and then barely catches himself from collapsing on top of Vince. He rolls to the side, instead, his own thighs aching, one of his hands on Vince’s ribcage where his chest is still heaving. They lay there for a moment, their breathing finally slowing, and then Vince shifts and turns onto his side, facing Eric, and Eric turns to look at him.  
  
“Hey,” he says.   
  
Vince bends his head so their foreheads are touching. He kisses Eric softly, just lips, and doesn’t open his eyes. “Hey,” he says.  
  
Eric waits, rubbing Vince’s back, and Vince finally says, “These girls at the mall,” and stops. He sighs and shifts a little closer, and Eric curls his arm up around Vince’s, so his hand is on his shoulder.  
  
“You went to the mall?” he asks. Vince nods. “Which mall?”  
  
“Beverly Center.”  
  
“Why there?”  
  
“Johnny needed to return stuff at D&G.”  
  
Eric thinks, Fucking Drama, but he doesn’t say it. “So these girls,” he says quietly, and Vince nods. “They recognized you.” He nods again. There’s sweat above his lip, sweat streaked through his hair, which has curled even tighter, now. “What happened?”  
  
“Nothing, really,” he says. Eric flexes his fingers, squeezing Vince’s shoulders. “They grabbed me,” he says. His tone is meant, Eric can tell, to be casual, no-big-deal, but Eric can feel the tension creeping back into his body.  
  
“Grabbed you how?”  
  
“They weren’t even very old,” he says, shrugging, and now his eyes open, and there’s a look to match his tone: an overlay of so-what with this-is-bothering-me just behind it. Eric nods. “They just, they saw us coming out of the store, and they ran over, and then their friends, and – there were just a lot of people, all the sudden.” Eric nods again. He reaches out and pulls the sheet and a blanket up over them. “So I signed some stuff, and Turtle went to get the car, and these girls – they wanted pictures, so fine, I’m standing there, and they –“ He shakes his head, smirks like it’s all so funny, and Eric doesn’t want to hear what’s next.  
  
“They grabbed you.”  
  
“Yeah.” He pushes Eric so that Eric falls back, and Vince spreads out against and over him, his head near Eric’s shoulder. “I just like the idea that you’re the only person who gets to do that,” Vince says against Eric’s shoulder.  
  
“Me, too.” Eric can picture the rest of it: Vince, trapped by a gaggle of girls, pink-nailed hands flying at him from all directions, the girls seeming sweet and giggly and everyone thinking it’s a big fucking joke to put their hands on the movie star. It’s happening more and more. Vince has had shirts ripped, has lost a belt loop, had three pink scratches on his arm last month, nearly got a black eye the last time they tried to sneak in to a movie theater. They need to have a conversation about personal security, Eric thinks, they need to look into hiring a bodyguard, but right now isn’t the moment. He puts his arms around Vince and kisses the side of his head. He smells musky and sweaty and still, somehow, freshly styled.  
  
“Hey, I like your hair,” he says, and Vince laughs.  
  
“You should have gone with me,” he says. “I could have gotten you a discount.”  
  
Eric runs his hands over Vince’s skin, holds him even closer. “Next time, I’m there,” he promises. Because starting right now, Vince isn’t leaving home without him.


End file.
